


Old you in the garbage (new you in display case)

by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Librarian Derek Hale, M/M, Makeover, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, So much pining it's a forest, Stiles is the hot girl, Virgin Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21673597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutchmoxie/pseuds/dearericbittle
Summary: Stiles is lonely and desperate and suffering from a crush on the grumpiest librarian. So what’s a boy to do but cook up a ridiculous plan to get himself dated and/or finally get laid before the holidays? He just wants his She’s All That moment, okay? He never expected that the plan would actually help him get the guy.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Erica Reyes & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 42
Kudos: 908
Collections: 12 Days of Sterek





	Old you in the garbage (new you in display case)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Christine for her patience in allowing me to talk about this fic for ages - and for the makeover movie recommendations. 
> 
> My rec for you readers: the seminal 1999 classic "Drive Me Crazy" with Melissa Joan Hart and a pre-Entourage Adrian Grenier. And yes, HE gets the makeover. Also, fake dating, and neighbors.

Look, Stiles hates being alone for the holidays, always has. Even though he’s basically had his entire life to get used to it, it still stings a little - or more than a little. 

And it’s not just that he’s a grad student who’s somehow still a fucking virgin - like, sure, that’s just his regular brand of pathetic, he can totally deal with that. He’s got two hands and he’s had a lot of time to teach himself how to be basically ambidextrous - at least when it comes to jerking off. He’s got a long way to go for some of the other stuff. 

The issue here is that he is really fucking lonely, all the way on the opposite side of the country from his family and friends. He hasn’t made new friends over here, too busy studying and working and making sure he wasn’t just putting his dad in more debt because he got it into his head that grad school was an excellent decision. And it was, it is, it totally is, because he’s learning a million things and he likes academia, wants to spend the rest of his life doing research and writing papers about random things. 

It just isn’t conducive to being in a relationship, at least not at this moment. And at this point, he’s built up the idea of a relationship so much that no one would be able to live up to his ridiculous standards - like, Stiles knows he’s not all that, so he shouldn’t have a ton of standards if he ever finds anyone who’d be up for fucking him. Or dating him. Or both. 

But he does, because he’s a fucking mess of a person who wants to get it right on the first go, just like his parents did. Even though the concept of virginity is ridiculous and heteronormative and oh boy he could totally write a paper about that too. 

The point is: Stiles Stilinski is twenty-three years old, and he doesn’t want to spend another holiday season by himself, watching shitty action movies until he gets drunk enough that he’s not embarrassed to switch to the Hallmark channel. He wants love, and if he can’t get that, he at least wants sex. He wants to know what it’s like. 

Man or woman? He doesn’t care, really he doesn’t. He just wants someone who’ll be at least the slightest bit interested in… all of him. Or some of him, even. He could settle for that, for someone who thought spindly limbs and awkwardness were cute enough to get it up for, metaphorically or literally. Or whatever.

Ugh, self-pity is the fucking worst, but it’s not like he has anyone else to talk to about this. Because well, the few friends that he does have (and they’re more like acquaintances, really), somehow have the idea that Stiles is a bit of a flirt - because, well, he is - and that this flirting has paid off many a time - which it really, really hasn’t. So now he either has to own up to the lie or deal with shit by himself. 

Option two sounds at least slightly more appealing, at least at the moment. 

Operation: Get Stiles Laid For The Holidays, or GSLFTH, is strictly a solo operation, for now. It’ll end up a partnership, if it is even remotely successful. Which it probably won’t be, but fuck, he’s going to give it a try regardless. 

So, what do they usually do in teen movies? Do they start with a makeover? Maybe Stiles needs to turn away from his trusty plaid, into something a little more… obvious? Appealing? Sexy? Attractive? Less like he’d chosen it when he was twelve years old and had never felt brave enough to change it? 

Yeah, mostly the latter. 

“Where do you buy your clothes?” Stiles turns to Derek Hale, because, well…

Derek is gorgeous. He has that tall dark and handsome thing about him that all the girls go crazy over - and some of the guys too, judging by the way that people ogle Derek when he’s bending over to properly stack a book. 

Even the librarians are hotter than Stiles - Derek is like the porn version of a librarian, if they have those in guy form. Stiles hasn’t seen that particular porn vid yet, but he can totally look for it when the plan fails on him. That could be his reward, even though he honestly doubts that anyone in porn could live up to Derek’s… everything. 

Okay, so maybe he does have a particular person in mind when he’s thinking about doing this makeover bullshit. Derek, the world’s hottest and grumpiest librarian, has been a frequent visitor in Stiles’ fantasies ever since Stiles first tripped onto his desk three years ago - and immediately proceeded to make a complete fool out of himself, because Mrs. Green certainly had not looked like that. 

Mrs. Green was the head librarian for this particular library before Derek showed up, and she’d been the typical old lady with glasses on a chain and a pinched look around the mouth whenever Stiles dared to show up and ask for something, even though it was always in the name of academic research. She retired when Stiles was in his junior year, and he’d privately celebrated by eating a lot of Cheetos near her precious books. 

Suck on that, Mrs. Green. Yes, he was still proud of that. 

“Hello Mr. Stilinski,” Derek didn’t even use his first name. 

Which is one of the many reasons why Stiles believes that this is just a completely hopeless quest. But it doesn’t mean that he stops liking Derek, because sometimes he actually gets to see beyond the typical grumpy librarian mask to the kind, soft, generous Derek underneath. And yeah, Derek doesn’t let out that side of him in front of Stiles, but sometimes Stiles does get to see it, and he tries to convince himself that that’s enough. 

It isn’t, but he can try to make himself believe it. 

“Mr. Hale,” he waggles his eyebrows like an idiot. “Clothes? Where do you get them?” 

He probably won’t even get an answer, but he’s going to try anyway, because it’s not like he has a whole lot of other options. Sure, he could try to email Lydia and hope she still remembers who he is (he did take her to Homecoming that one time because she wanted to make Jackson jealous) - but he doesn’t have high hopes for that one. And Derek’s an actual adult, probably approaching thirty by now, and Stiles just feels like a child in comparison, because he just really does not have his shit together as a person. School stuff? Sure. Work? Definitely. Personal life? Not at fucking all. 

“This is unprofessional,” Derek always has to get that out of his system first. 

“I know,” Stiles sighs dramatically, waiting for Derek to continue the protocol. “But apparently I still dress like a child and you’re pretty much the only grown-ass adult I talk to who isn’t a student or a professor, and you always dress professionally, and well… I can’t play Peter Pan forever. Green tights wouldn’t be a good look on me.” 

Probably not, right? He wouldn’t know, he hasn’t actually checked out his own legs. He thinks they’re kind of thin, and his knees are all knobby, so tights would probably be a terrible idea. The rest of the Peter Pan comparison is probably not completely incorrect, but he is not going to get into that, especially not in front of Derek. He’s still trying to impress him. 

“Probably not,” Derek tries to look nonplussed - and fails. 

“Should I be offended?” Stiles has to ask, even though he knows the response he’ll get. 

It’ll be snippy and sarcastic, because Derek is kind of an asshole like that, and it just makes Stiles love him more. He’s tragic like that, doomed to always falling for people who are like, ridiculously out of his league, who barely even know his name and definitely do not care about him as a person. He should probably learn to value himself more, but oh well. That’s not going to happen any time soon. 

“Probably,” is the predictable response. 

Stiles whines at Derek, because he knows if all else fails, that still works. “Clothes!” 

There is no way that he’s going to be able to get to Derek’s level - or even close to it - but maybe more people will start taking him seriously if he actually dresses like an adult. He’s over halfway to a master’s degree, and half of the students he TAs, treat him like one of them. He can’t do that forever, just because he has a babyface and acts like an idiot all the time. 

“Do you really need help that badly?” Derek is already close to giving in, Stiles can tell. 

“Just look at me,” Stiles motions at himself, at the almost six feet of blegh that is him. “Doesn’t that just scream twenty-three year old virgin to you? Because it certainly does to me! It screams virgin loser with no friends! Which is to say, it screams Stiles Stilinski. Insert jazz hands here. And wow this is not something I wanted to yell so loudly in a crowded library so I’m just going to go away and die quietly now. Say nice things about me at my funeral, won’t you?” 

Great, that’s just… great. Every single time he thinks he’s learned to have at least somewhat of a filter, something like this happens and he proves himself wrong. This is just one of the many reasons that he cannot get a date to save his life: he offends people without meaning to, and his impulse control is completely shot. Not to mention that he’s usually all in after like, thirty minutes spent with someone, and the other person gets creeped out by his enthusiasm. By the way he goes from zero to sixty. Because everyone wants to take it slow emotionally, just be casual, and Stiles? Isn’t a casual person. But he can try, if it’ll get him laid. 

Which might happen, but he just needs to die of embarrassment first. 

“Why would I lie?” Derek throws out a parting shot. 

“You wound me gravely, Mr. Hale,” Stiles puts a hand over his heart and goes off in search of his study corner. 

He always sits in the same spot, hidden away from most everyone, but if the books are placed right, he’s got a perfect view of Derek Hale behind that desk. It’s a distracting view, but an excellent reward for studying well, or completing a chapter of his thesis. 

So he plops down on the same seat he always uses, one no one dares to take from him, ever, for some reason, and he pops in his headphones, because he can’t study without music. It’s too quiet without it, and quiet is super distracting and he gets overly anxious about all of the noise he could be making (is his pen flipping too loud? The tapping of his foot? His breathing?). So, the music drowns out some of the anxiety. And all of the flipping paper and creaking chairs and groaning and sighing and the crunching of hidden snacks. 

Fuck, now he’s hungry too. 

Stiles is about halfway through reading an article on the history of werewolves in sci-fi and fantasy literature when a shadow falls over the page. Ugh, no, is he actually going to have to talk to someone? He was just really getting into the flow! 

“I’m sorry,” Derek fucking Hale is standing in front of him. 

Dude, Derek should never be sorry for talking to Stiles, even though this brief interruption is going to cost him at least half an hour of study time - he is going to have to reread at least the last page or so, and it’ll take him a while to get his focus back. Plus he’s a bit fuzzy-headed now - it’s hard coming up from hyperfocus. 

“Shit, am I being annoying again?” Stiles takes a survey of his body. 

He’s not tapping his pen against anything, he’s not singing (or at least, he doesn’t think he was), he’s barely even moving. So why would anyone complain about him this time? 

“Not more so than usual,” Derek shrugs, and Stiles doesn’t stop worrying - he can’t. 

Not more so than usual doesn’t mean that he isn’t annoying. Sure, it’s the kind of annoying that Derek can totally deal with, because somehow he doesn’t get too bothered by Stiles’ everything, but he knows that other students have disagreed in the past - and will again in the future. 

“So I should just leave, right?” He sighs and starts packing up. 

“Stiles, stop,” Derek halts his progress almost immediately. 

Oh cool, he’s using first names now too. That’s progress, sort of. Or well, it’s a sign that Derek at least knows his first name (or technically, his nickname). And he knows that Derek knows, but the fact that Derek remembers is still kind of cool. 

“Stopping,” he carelessly tosses his stuff back onto the table. 

“No one complained about you,” Derek finally reassures him. “You’ve done nothing that people would complain about. This time.”

Of course he flips Derek off after that, because doesn’t he know by now that anxiety is a real thing that Stiles definitely has? He knows people don’t like him, that they think he’s a freak, and he’s just trying to minimize the damage here. 

“I just wanted to check in,” Derek sounds like he is extremely unhappy to be saying this. “That stuff you were saying about dressing like a child and being a loser with no friends. Who told you that? Are people bullying you, Stiles?”

Oh, fuck, seriously? This is just like the well-meaning English substitute junior year of high school, who noticed some of the stuff the evil twins were trying to pull on him, and wanted him to go to the principal’s office about it. And Stiles knew that was the worst possible thing to do - if he thought the current situation was bad, going to the principal was only going to make it worse. Not that Mrs. Baccari ever understood that. 

Maybe after she was attacked by an animal and had that psychotic break… Huh, he wonders if she’s okay. He hasn’t thought about her much since then. 

“The mirror tells me that,” Stiles does an aborted little jazz hands gesture. 

Derek looks at him with pity in his eyes, and fuck no, that’s the last thing he wants from Derek. Like, he’d rather Derek hate him than pity him, like he’s some dumb child that needs help from a sensible adult. Fuck that noise. He is an adult - he may not be all that great at being one, but he is one regardless. And he can handle things on his own, without asking his dad or anyone for help. He’s a New Yorker now - they’re raised tough. 

“Look,” another aborted flail, “sometimes you just reach a point where you’re like, maybe who I am isn’t working anymore. And I’m there, like, so there. And I can handle it. I’ll figure it out without your fucking pity, Mr. Hale.” 

So he packs up his shit after all, mentally working through a list of places that would actually allow him to get some work done before his evening shift at the student hotline. Sometimes, on a slow night, he can actually get some work done during his shift, but since deadline season is right around the corner, people are freaking the fuck out. They always have a ton of questions and Stiles barely gets a second to grab a cup of tea (no coffee after ten if he wants to get to sleep at a decent hour that will allow him to be awake for his eight AM tomorrow). 

“Mr. Stilinski,” Derek sighs, but doesn’t stop him. 

“Mr. Hale,” Stiles tips his metaphorical hat and gets the fuck out of there. 

Crushes are the worst, they really fucking are. He thought it was going to be a nice afternoon with a bit of banter to deal with the monotony of studying, and instead he can never go back to the library ever again because Derek will absolutely sick a guidance counselor or student psychologist on him. Just because he’s finally taking people’s advice. 

He turns the music up a bit more and skips every love song that pops up on shuffle. 

* * *

So, the clothes thing is obviously a fail, but there has got to be something else that he can do, right? Maybe there’s a speed dating event that he can attend, so that he can just get the rejection over and done with? Or he can find one of NYC’s many clubs and go home with the first person who doesn’t reject him right away? 

December is passing him by too quickly, and all he has to look forward to is a holiday alone in his room, getting himself drunk on rum and cider and cheap egg-nog. At least Hallmark has a bunch of new movies coming out - he can always count on those, and maybe even a Netflix original or two. If all else fails, there’s still one of the epic Stiles Stilinski movie marathons that he can have a do-over on. Without Scott this time. 

Which makes it less fun. A lot less fun. But he’ll deal with it, because he has to. 

Just like he’s dealing with the busy weekend ahead - a big paper to write and an extra shift on Sunday. There might be a little time to work on the plan. Not that he has any ideas on how to proceed, but maybe Reddit or Yahoo answers will throw him a bone. He desperately needs one. 

A blonde girl is standing in front of him, refusing to get out of the way. She’s gorgeous - blonde curls and a tight top underneath a leather jacket and jeans perfectly fitted to her curves. Her lips are painted blood red and her grin has a little too much teeth. 

“You must be Stiles,” she tells him, and he gulps audibly. 

“The one and only,” Stiles tries to be funny and quippy, because that’s one asset he does have, after all. “What can I help you with?”

Clearly she needs something from him. He doesn’t recognize her, so he doesn’t think she’s in any of his classes, or the ones he’s TA-ing, but maybe she wants a transfer, or a recommendation for something, or she’ll be taking a class with him next semester and she’s already trying to get in good with him, hoping for a better grade. It wouldn’t be the first time, and probably won’t be the last either. Students are predictable like that. 

“It’s not about what you can do for me,” she trails off meaningfully. 

“What the fuck?” Stiles has but one response to this weirdness. 

Because no one wants to do anything for him, not without wanting something in return. Hot girls don’t approach him on the street, already knowing his name. This kind of shit just doesn’t happen to him. 

“Look, I was sent to help,” the girl is still grinning at him. “He told me to tell you that Mr. Hale sent me, but unlike Derek I have a personality, so. It’s Derek. He worries.”

Yep, pity. It’s pity. Of course it is. Since he hadn’t heard from Derek in a couple of days, and he hadn’t suddenly received a message from any healthcare professionals, he figured that Derek had put it down as a deadline induced freak-out. Clearly he was wrong, and clearly the pity is real and debilitating. He can never go back to the library. Ever. 

“This is so embarrassing,” he bemoans, looking up at the Gods for help even though he knows they’re a bunch of assholes. 

“Oh, come off it, Batman,” the girl pokes him in the chest, right on the Batman logo on his shirt (shit, is this why he needs a scarf?). “Get over yourself. I don’t know how you made Derek give a damn if you just do this whiny shit, but it worked. Congrats! You made the professional, emotionless robot worry about your wellbeing. Seriously, I cannot stress enough how big of a deal this is. This is Derek fucking Hale. He only likes about… 6 people? Wait, shit, let me count them real quick.”

The girl then proceeds to count on her fingers, muttering various names that Stiles does not recognize - or at least, doesn’t have a person he can connect them to. She counts the first four off pretty quickly, and then goes back and forth on counting a fifth. 

“You are either number five or number six,” she turns back to Stiles, having decided. “His uncle is an asshole and I’m never sure where Derek stands when it comes to him.”

Stiles doesn’t know whether to be completely fucking terrified or completely in awe of this girl, but right now he is kind of both, at the same time. He doesn’t even know this girl’s name, but he certainly knows more about Derek than he ever has before, or at least he’s gotten some of his suspicions about the hottests of librarians confirmed. He can assume that this girl is one of the four to five people that Derek actually likes, but he’s curious about who she is, and who she is to Derek. Girlfriend? Relative? Friend? 

“I’m flattered, I think,” Stiles finally responds. 

“You should be,” the girl grabs his arm. “I’m Erica, but you should totally call me Catwoman, if you’re gonna be my Batman. We’re going to the mall. Or just hitting some stores. I haven’t decided yet.”

And then she just proceeds to drag him off and away with her. And she’s strong, too, it’s as if all 147 pounds of him are nothing to her, even though she’s wearing tight jeans and ridiculously badass high heels. It’s like she’s actually a superheroine. Stiles is a little bit in love with her already, even though she’s wearing an engagement ring (and wouldn’t be interested in him even if she hadn’t been wearing a ring). 

“I don’t think leather is a good look for me,” he tells Erica. 

“You could pull it off,” she tells him, looking him up and down as they wait for a traffic light. “But I’m not seeing much leather for you. No tweed either, though. You’re young, you could pull off the hot professor look without tweed or elbow patches.”

Hot professor? Stiles? Does Erica perhaps need glasses? 

He scoffs, loudly - too loudly. “I can’t pull off a hot anything. Look, I get that you’re doing a favor for a friend and that’s adorable and mortifying because holy shit I didn’t think I merited that much of the great Derek Hale’s pity. But I have to be realistic here - I’m good if we can get me to decent. Not an eyesore. Acceptable. Not horrible. That’s the aim here.”

The hot professor look, that’s something for the Derek Hales of this world, not for a Stiles Stilinski. He knows who he is and what he likes and what he looks like, and yeah, maybe he could pass for lithe instead of lanky in the right (lack of) lighting. But he doesn’t have much of an appeal, to anyone. He knows this - he just has to remember it, because falling into a pattern of thinking too highly of himself is only going to cause him pain. Again. 

“Unacceptable,” Erica responds, just dragging him into the subway station. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” he squeaks at her as she drags him towards the platform. “I’ll just stay my regular nerdy self and die a virgin. You’re terrifying and I’m in awe of you, now could you please just let me go?”

He tries to wiggle away from her just slightly, to get out of her grip, but well, he’s 147 pounds of sarcasm and fragility, and she’s a whole lot of badass. It doesn’t work, not at all, not even when the surprise arrival of the train should give him somewhat of an advantage. 

“Honey, do you have any idea why I’m here?” Erica still doesn’t let go of him. 

“Derek asked you to do him a favor,” Stiles replies, by rote, as he plops down gracelessly on an empty seat. “And you owed him one, or something.”

The train isn’t as crowded as he’d been expecting - sure, there are only a couple of seats free, but for this time of day, that’s actually pretty damn awesome. Guess the MTA isn’t screwing up, for once. Maybe he should mark the day in his calendar. 

“Sure, that’s part of it,” Erica flips her hair in a perfect economical movement. “But then he told me it was you, and I would have done it without the favor. You don’t remember me, do you?”

What does that mean, Derek told her it was Stiles and that made a difference? Why would that make a difference? Did that mean that Derek had actually told the people closest to him about Stiles? What had he told them? Why would he tell them? What was it about Stiles that made Derek give a damn? And did he, did he really? Give damn, he means. 

But… Remember Erica? From where? When? How?

“Remember you?” Stiles is just - blanking. 

“It’s okay,” she isn’t grinning now, though. “It’s been about a decade. I look different. People even say I grew up good. Maybe you even agree… It’s a miracle what the right treatments and some confidence can do to a person.”

A decade? But he was in Beacon Hills a decade ago, and he would totally remember a girl like Erica, if she’d been around back then. But maybe the treatments made a difference in… Oh, fuck. Really? It’s actually….

“Erica Reyes?” Stiles finally makes the connection. “Shit, fuck, really? I haven’t seen you since… That thing that was awful and that we will never mention again.”

Holy shit, it is really Erica, who was in his class for most of elementary school, and a part of middle school before she… transferred after that fucking douche Matt posted a video online of her peeing her pants after an epileptic seizure. Her dad took a job halfway across the country shortly after and the entire Reyes family followed. 

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Erica hardly even looks pained about it now. “You have no idea I had the biggest crush on you back then, did you?” 

Does not fucking compute. He barely even knew who Erica was outside of the terrible moments he witnessed that made him want to be nice and comforting. But it wasn’t like they talked all that much or like they were actually friends. He just occasionally noticed her, being the fellow freak she was, and didn’t want losers like Matt and Jackson to snuff out her light. 

No matter how cheesy that may sound. 

“What the fuck?” That’s all Stiles can say right now. 

“You only had eyes for Lydia Martin,” Erica shrugs. “Obviously I have traded up since. You’ll meet my Boyd at some point, I’m sure. But at that point, it sucked. You were funny and sent me a card after, and one time you let me borrow your comics because I was bored not being allowed to participate in gym class. You were nice to me, and you were such a cutie. Still are.” 

Not blushing is hard after this declaration of… something. Erica’s words make him feel all the things. He feels like an asshole because he never really noticed her as a person, that he never made the effort to actually be her friend. But he also feels good about himself because the small little things that he did as a selfish kid actually made a difference for someone. And well, Erica Reyes thought he was cute. Wait, did she say she still thinks that?

That is the real surprise here. 

“Thanks,” he says, because that’s just, the nice thing to do. “You have to tell Derek thanks for this, too. Because it’s you. It’s way less embarrassing now. You’ve seen my buzzcut - this can hardly be any worse than that.”

Yeah, that look only worked back when people could still legitimately call him adorable - and he passed that point ages ago. Probably even before Erica left, because he basically started turning into a little shit when his mother died and his dad… didn’t deal with it too well. At that point, he was too busy trying to figure out how to take care of himself to be nice to people. 

“Shut up, the buzzcut was adorable,” Erica is rolling her eyes at him. 

“Many people disagree,” Stiles is not letting this go. 

He got made fun of a lot for that. And he knows that someone like Jackson doesn’t actually need a reason as much as he needs the slightest hint of an excuse, but a part of him still worries. A part of him still believes that Jackson was right about him, and always would be right about him. That he’s nothing, and always would be nothing. 

“Well yeah, because they’re idiots,” Erica is just as competitive. “I assume you’re talking about guys like Whittemore? Any guy associated with him is an idiot. Except Danny.” 

Everybody loves Danny. As well they fucking should. 

“Come on, Stilinski,” Erica is once again leading him, this time out of the subway car and back into the light. “We’ve got a lot of stores to visit and only so much time to do it.”

It’s weird being back on the street, being dragged along by Erica, like they’re actually friends and she’s actually excited to hang out with him. He hasn’t felt like that in… well, fucking ages, and it’s kind of nice. He could like this Erica, probably even more than he did when he vaguely knew her before. 

Maybe he should send Derek a thank you note of some kind. 

* * *

There is no way that he can actually afford half of the stuff Erica makes him try on in all of the many stores they end up going to - or even half of the stuff that she deems acceptable - but somehow he still ends up with several bags worth of new, stylish clothes. Within budget, too! He’s tried a whole bunch of things that he’s never really tried before. Like clothes where people can actually see the shape of his body. 

Very shocking, he knows. But he’s seen the light, seen how much more presentable he looks when he’s not hiding in baggy clothes that he was eventually supposed to grow into - only he only shot up in height, and the bulk that Scott got, never showed up on Stiles. 

Erica told him all about dressing for who he is now, and not for who he used to be, or even for who he wants to be. And she smiled the whole time, like she actually enjoyed hanging out with him. She gave him her number after, like they were actually friends now. 

Maybe they are. Or maybe they could be, at least. 

Now all that’s left is to employ one of the many strategies that Erica has shown him, to go after what he wants. And even though he knows that it’s never going to happen, what he wants hasn’t changed. It’s still Derek. 

He honestly doubts that anyone has ever dressed up to go to the library before, but Stiles has decided that he is just going to have to be the first. Because this is all Derek’s fault and he figures that Derek should at least see the fruits of his labor before someone mocks Stiles’ desperation and he has to start from scratch. 

That and he wants to know if Derek maybe thinks he’s hot now. He wants to have that cliche makeover moment where he’s finally noticed by the hot guy, so sue him. 

So he puts on the slacks that supposedly make his butt look great, and the button down that Erica swore was the perfect fit for him (even though he still worries about busting out the seams with every sudden move he makes, and yes he does make a lot of those). He tries to mess with his hair a little before giving that up as a lost cause, and then he heads toward the library, wondering if Derek will even be on shift. 

Ugh, wow, that will totally suck, if he’s gone through all this effort only to find that Derek isn’t even working. So far, he hasn’t seen the evidence of a very set schedule - the shifts seem to change a lot. But then again, it’s not like he shows up with any sense of regularity. It’s pretty much when his shifts allow - which is hard to make sense of sometimes. 

The December wind is cold and biting, so he’s glad to be indoors when he finally gets to the library. His coat is zipped up and buttoned to his chin, and when the door closes behind him, he almost wants to keep wearing it. He is not ready to show off. 

What if Derek hates it? What if he takes one look at Stiles and rolls his eyes, or worse, what if he laughs at him? What if he regrets sending Erica over to help him? 

There’s not much time left to turn back - it’s warm in the library so he’s already unbuttoning and unzipping his coat (yes, both, because New York weather is no joke and he’s just a weak California boy at heart). He’s too nervous to take it off completely - he can’t do that right away, maybe after he’s talked to Derek. Maybe then he’ll feel a bit more sure of himself. 

“Mr. Stilinski,” he finds exactly the right person at the desk. 

And it sucks, because Derek is hardly even looking at him. He doesn’t even notice that Stiles looks different. And why would he? Stiles is just another student, just one of many. It’s not like Derek keeps track of all the students who come in to say hello to him. The thirst visits alone would completely overwhelm his brain. 

But Erica said Derek cares. Erica said Stiles is one of five. Or six. (Seriously, what the fuck is up with Derek and his uncle? This is just weird - and weirdly interesting.)

Either way, that means he matters to Derek. Somehow. For some reason that Stiles hasn’t figured out yet. Maybe he’ll never get to find out, but right now he has to believe that Erica has been speaking the truth. The girl from middle school wouldn’t lie to him, and he would like to think that Erica hasn’t actually changed that much on the inside. Other than her ridiculous levels of confidence that he totally envies like a lot. 

“Mr. Hale,” he has to keep trying. 

Why isn’t Derek looking at him? Is his desk really that interesting? Maybe it is, or maybe Derek is just… embarrassed. Embarrassed about how much Erica revealed, maybe, about how Derek actually gives a damn about Stiles. Derek probably doesn’t like being vulnerable, especially not in front of students - it’s kind of adorable and just makes Stiles like him even more, but that’s not something he will ever reveal, not on pain of death. 

Stiles has decided that Derek is embarrassed. And he’s decided that he’s going to be his typical self and ignore all social cues, and just continue to talk at Derek until he looks up. 

“Look, I don’t know how much Erica told you,” he starts talking and then he just simply doesn’t stop. “But she’s kind of really fucking awesome. You probably know that already, but it feels like I should tell you anyway. Did you know that we actually grew up together, back in good old Beacon Hills? Well, not so good for Erica because that town is just filled with total douchebags who were terrible to her. And not so good for me because a lot of these douchebags made fun of me for most of my life. People would probably describe that as bullying, but that’s not the point here, Mr. Hale. No sirree. The point is that Erica and I have been reunited at last.” 

He knows that he talks a lot - Derek knows that he talks a lot. The whole world probably know that Stiles Stilinski can talk a lot. And right now, he’s going to take advantage of it, for once, instead of being embarrassed by it as usual. Because this time it is actually helping him, being annoying enough to get Derek to respond. He’s basically annoying Derek into looking at him, and he already knows that it’s going to work. Because Derek is stubborn, he knows that much, but no one can out-stubborn Stiles Stilinski. He’s got a gift. 

“It was really cool of you to send her over,” Stiles is just going to keep trying. “We went to a whole bunch of stores that I have never once set foot in before. And she made me try on a bunch of stuff that I really didn’t think would fit me. Like, seriously, all of the stuff she picked out was so tight! If she hadn’t told me she had a crush on me in middle school, I totally would have thought that she was making fun of me… oh, hey.” 

Was it actually the crush part of that rant that made Derek look up at him? Really? That is… surprising, probably. Because sure, he expected Derek to be a little protective of Erica, but this feels like it’s a bit much, and… Why is he even thinking about that when Derek is finally looking up at him? 

“So, what do you think?” Stiles has to ask as he shrugs off his coat completely. 

There is no response. Derek remains silent, so Stiles looks at him pointedly, and waits for a response as he tries to understand why Derek isn’t saying anything. 

Derek’s eyes are flitting back and forth as they try to take in the whole picture - apparently there is a lot to take in and Derek needs some time to process it all. The absence of jeans and hoodie and logo tee (or geeky tee, Stiles doesn’t differentiate when it comes to awesome) alone is probably stumping Derek. Add to that that Stiles is wearing clothes that fit for once, instead of clothes bought at least two sizes too big? Yeah, it’s probably a lot. 

He just wants to know if it’s a good a lot, or a bad one. Erica picked it out, so it can’t be awful, but maybe Derek actually hates the color, or the fit, or maybe he thinks that it looks like Stiles is trying too hard. Maybe he’s trying to come up with something to say that isn’t a rude dismissal of the entire attempt. 

But Derek isn’t that kind of asshole, right? He isn’t, not about the stuff that matters. 

“Derek?” Stiles has to ask, he has to. 

It is hot in here, and he feels even hotter under Derek’s gaze. Seems like Derek is feeling the heat too, as his face appears more flushed than it usually is. Maybe he’s getting sick and that’s why he’s having trouble saying something? No, that’s just weird. 

“It looks good,” Derek finally speaks. “You look like an adult.” 

Isn’t that the whole point of this? So, does that mean mission accomplished, basically? Or is it a failure, because Derek is being so weird about it? There is no way that Derek would be weird about it for a good reason, that’s just not possible. 

“Well, I am a whopping twenty-three years of age,” Stiles brushes it off. 

“Erica did a good job,” Derek awkwardly continues. “You look good. Not like a loser. Because you’re not. A loser, I mean. You know what I mean.” 

Does he? Does Stiles know what he means? Because right now, he feels like he has no fucking clue what has been going on here. It’s like there’s something he’s missing here, and Derek refuses to let him in on the secret - that is, if Derek even knows what’s going on, because Stiles is definitely starting to doubt that. Derek does not have his shit together, not as much as Stiles thought he did, that’s for damn sure. 

“Thanks, I guess,” Stiles is at least going to appreciate the compliment. 

And Derek just looks down, and doesn’t respond, and what the hell is up with that? Like, what is so terrifying about Stiles in his new getup? He certainly wasn’t terrifying before - and he misses Derek giving him shit, because that’s just the kind of person he is and that’s a part of why Stiles likes him so very much. The compliments are nice, but he’s missing a joke about how he shouldn’t get a big head, or how he’s still a pain in the ass, no matter how pretty he looks. 

Okay, Derek would never say that last thing, but a boy can dream, can’t he? And boy oh boy, has he done a lot of wishing and hoping and praying and dreaming about Derek. 

But once again, it looks like none of that stuff is going to make it out of the fantasy stage and into real life. He really shouldn’t be surprised that he’s just been projecting, but it still really fucking sucks. Because Derek is complimenting him and being all adorable and awkward - but once again, it’s just for all the wrong reasons. 

“I should go do some actual studying,” Stiles tries really hard not to be disappointed that nothing came of this. “It’s not like I just showed up here to show you my new look.” 

Well, that is absolutely the main reason, but that is not something that Derek is ever going to find out about. He could have studied at home - he doesn’t actually need anything in the library and for once it’s quiet enough at home so he can get some decent studying done. But home doesn’t have Derek, and he had to reveal his new look. Because he’s been waiting for his teen movie makeover moment. 

“Mr. Stilinski,” Derek nods at him and then just focuses on his computer again. 

Guess this isn’t it. Guess there’s someone else out there who is going to trip all over themselves when they see him like this. They won’t be as awesome as Derek, probably. 

He throws his bag onto his favorite table (fingers crossed nothing is broken) - empty, yet again, as if it’s waiting for him. This table is basically his one true love at this point. At least this table, his table, still loves him even though he feels ridiculous in this new get-up. He’s going to continue wearing it until he gets his makeover moment, but he doesn’t feel great about it. 

Time to work on research for yet another paper. He digs a cheap pen from his bag, because he’s prone to fiddling with a pen while he works. Stiles just always has to keep his hands occupied at all times, because otherwise he will drive himself and everyone else crazy. And maybe if he makes a lot of effort, fiddling with a pen won’t mean clicking it and making people want to actively murder him. 

When he starts with the first page, he tries twirling and twisting the pen between his fingers, but he drops it before he even finishes the page, and he has to crawl underneath the table to find it again. He actually hits his head on the underside of the table when he is startled by a loud noise right as he is wiggling himself out from underneath his table. 

Fuck, that really hurts. That is going to bruise, or leave a bump. Or both. 

“Ouch,” he mutters to himself, rubbing his head. 

Fingers crossed that he didn’t ruin the tight pants or tore off a button while he was on his hands and knees on the library floor. So far, so good, as he stands up and feels for any damage on his shirt - and furtively, his ass. Because if he ripped his pants at the ass, Erica would never let him hear the end of it. 

Another loud noise, and he whirls around to see where it’s coming from. He can’t tell - he would have suspected Derek, if he was at his desk, but Stiles can’t see him at all from his vantage point. Which is odd, but not extremely unusual. Derek does move around occasionally. 

So he tries not to think too much of it - Derek wouldn’t be calling Erica to tell her she did a bad job, right? He’s not that kind of asshole, Stiles is just paranoid. 

“Study, study, study,” he mutters to himself as he gets right back to it. “Gotta study.” 

The pen gripped tightly in his hand, he dives back into the article he was trying to get through, only available in this pain in the ass online journal. As he gets more and more into it, he needs to have both hands free to take notes and highlight and make sure he probably makes a note of a couple of quotes he really should use - so the pen makes its way into his mouth. 

And now his hands are busy, and it’s just easier to keep the pen in his mouth just in case. But occasionally he gets a bit distracted by the text he’s reading and the pen almost drops onto his laptop, but he sucks it back in just in time. That happens a couple times before he figures out it’s just easier to get a bit of a rhythm going - it’s almost soothing, sucking on it like that. 

When that’s followed by another loud noise just a minute or so later, he is so startled that he drops the pen onto the keyboard.

What the hell is going on today? 

* * *

Stiles keeps wearing the new clothes, even though the response to them is… not what he’d been expecting. One of the other students in his grad level seminar keeps winking at him and licking her lips and it’s just… He keeps looking behind him to check if she’s not staring at someone other than little old Stiles Stilinski. 

So far, there hasn’t been anyone behind him that she could be staring at. But she also hasn’t done anything more than objectify him from a distance, so it’s clearly not working to actually get him laid - or get him a date. 

He really doesn’t understand what he’s supposed to do here. Isn’t this the part in the teen movie where the total creep shows an interest and he gets swept up in it? Or the part where the guy who’s been betting that he can make Stiles prom queen gets a little too into the bet and actually falls in love with him? Or is his life not actually She’s All That?

It’s not. It’s really not, but a boy can dream. Kind of. There’s no Freddie Prinze junior waiting around the corner to live happily ever after with - good, because if Freddie ever hurts Buffy, he’s going to personally cut a bitch. Not the point. So not the point. 

Leading up to finals, he spends more time studying at the library. Derek’s there even more than he is, which is probably evidence of some terrible life choices on both their parts. Shouldn’t Derek have some kind of life outside of the library? Sure, the opening hours get a little more crazy because students pretty much want to study twenty-four seven at this time of year, but that should not be all on Derek’s shoulders. Stiles is pretty damn sure that they hired a bunch of randos last year to help with the basic stuff. 

So far, no randos to be seen. Just Derek. All the time. And that’s still an excellent view to have, and occasionally extremely distracting to his studying process, but it’s still weird. Shouldn’t Derek at least take breaks? To be honest, Stiles is getting a little worried. 

Sometimes that’s enough of a reason to text Erica, so that she or someone else who’s a part of Derek’s chosen few can check on him, just a little. He doesn’t ask for reports, he doesn’t ask for anything - he just lets her know that he’s been wearing the tight jeans to the library and Derek looked exhausted. He gets so distracted worrying about Derek, staring at him like a creeper with a pathetic crush, that sometimes he forgets to keep himself from being annoying. On the worst days, he even forgets to study for hours at a time. 

Which means he has to study more at home, just to catch up. Which means that he is severely sleep deprived in the days before his final exam. Which means that he gets stupid about getting Derek’s attention - he takes Erica’s teasing jokes as gospel, as ways that maybe he can use to finally make Derek see him as a grown-ass man, someone he could be interested in. 

Of course he hasn’t told Erica that it’s Derek specifically that he’s interested in, that he really only wants Derek to notice him. Because one, she’s probably already figured that out because of how completely obvious he is about it, and two, it’s really fucking embarrassing and once Erica knows that he knows that she knows (fuck, that’s a scene straight from Friends), she is going to mock him about this for all eternity. And he can’t have that. 

“Mr. Hale,” he stumbles into the library, the day before his last final. 

The bags under his eyes probably have their own zip codes by now, but he only has to hold on for one more day. He just has to make sure he reads through the chapters again and maybe he should check the extra information that the professor alluded to in the final class just in case that jerk decides to pull that on him again. Because perfect scores aren’t allowed - so this guy would rather ask questions that weren’t covered in class. 

“Stiles,” Derek has to grab his arm to keep him from tripping over the desk. 

“Derek,” Stiles grins dumbly at him. 

Because Derek is using his first name instead of his last name and that’s awesome, and that clearly means that Erica’s hints are helping. It means that the tight jeans are paying off, even though Derek probably hasn’t been able to see much of them underneath his same old table - it’s not like Stiles has actually been bending over in front of Derek, like Erica suggested. Stiles is no Elle Woods - he just doesn’t have enough snap to follow his bend. 

“Are you okay?” Derek still hasn’t let go of him. “You look…” 

Wow, Derek is noticing how he looks, that’s awesome. Clearly this is working - he’s doing something right. So the day after tomorrow, after he’s finally gotten a full night’s sleep, he’s going to go back to the library and flirt with Derek. 

“Hot?” Stiles grins dumbly up at Derek. 

“Exhausted,” Derek corrects, and that’s not as fun. “Have you been sleeping at all? And have you been eating? Actual food, not just snacks, I mean.” 

Well, to be honest. He can’t really remember when he last had a full meal, something that didn’t come out of a microwave or a crinkly foil bag. So yeah, sometimes his stomach rumbles while he studies so he tries to remember to feed himself, but it’s hard to remember when there’s so much left to memorize and only so little time left to do it. If cutting out cooking or grocery shopping gives him more time to stick it to Harris, it is very obvious what he must do. At least, it is obvious to him - but maybe not so much to Derek. 

“I can sleep after I show Professor Harris that I can get a perfect grade,” Stiles rolls his eyes. 

Or tries to, because his body doesn’t seem to be doing what he wants anymore. It’s not just Derek holding on to him (even though that is definitely messing with his head a little), but suddenly his mind is completely fuzzy, and no amount of blinking can make him turn back on. There is nothing left to do but give in. 

“How about you take a nap first?” Derek sounds… off. 

“Naps are the best,” Stiles tells Derek, because he’s an extremely passionate connaisseur of this particular topic. “It’s like nighttime only it’s during the day.”

This is what being drunk feels like, he vaguely remembers that. But he’s so sure that he hasn’t been consuming any alcohol - because it tends to make him sleepy and he can’t afford to fall asleep now, not when… Oh, okay. Yeah, he probably needs sleep. 

“You’re right,” Derek sounds… amused?

Did he just make Derek smile? And he wasn’t even watching?

Stiles blinks a little, and suddenly he’s lying down on a comfortable couch, covered in a… blanket? No, it’s not a blanket, it’s not soft enough. It smells good though, and Stiles pulls it up higher and takes a solid sniff, only to figure out it is definitely a leather jacket. A worn leather jacket, lovingly patched up time and time again. 

The kind of garment Stiles would never be able to pull off. He just doesn’t have the street cred. 

“You’re awake.” 

He sits up straight immediately, still clinging pathetically to the jacket. He looks around to find the person who that voice belongs to, only to find… Derek, standing in an unfamiliar room. Stiles has no fucking clue how he even got here in the first place. 

“Derek?” Stiles has a million questions. 

And Derek is just standing there, looking at him. Or more precisely, looking pointedly at the jacket that Stiles is still basically cuddling to his chest. Because clearly it’s his. 

“You’re still at the library,” Derek tells him, finally. “You’re in my office. I wanted to give you some privacy and you keeled over and fell asleep right away.” 

Well, that is slightly or extremely embarrassing. Here he is, trying to impress Derek, and instead he basically falls asleep on him. Derek has probably watched him drool in his sleep - because Stiles knows that there is absolutely nothing cute or hot or sexy or even adorable about him when he is sleeping. If there was ever a chance, it is definitely gone now. 

Though, instead of waking him up, Derek actually let him sleep. And instead of letting him get cold, Derek covered him up with what Stiles is assuming is his leather jacket. And oh boy, does Stiles have a lot of thoughts about Derek in this leather jacket. 

“So you covered me with your jacket,” Stiles has to grin at that.

“I didn’t have a blanket,” Derek isn’t looking at him now. “You’d better not have drooled on this jacket. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to get that out.” 

Well, Derek is back to normal, because clearly he can’t actually acknowledge that he did something really sweet for Stiles, even though he probably should be pissed that Derek made him sleep instead of letting him study for Harris’ class (because he needs to get a perfect grade more than he needs air - or sleep). Yeah, actually, he should be angry at Derek - if he’s too soft, Derek will probably figure out just how bad Stiles’ crush is. 

“I’m sure a little eau de Stiles just gives it more character,” he throws the jacket at Derek. 

Derek isn’t even phased, even though Stiles threw the jacket as hard as he could, which granted, isn’t all that hard. But still. He wanted Derek to at least be a little surprised, or get hit by it, instead of catching it as if Stiles had been pitching it perfectly. 

And no one has ever called Stiles’ aim great. Or good, even. 

“Do I have permission to study now?” Stiles asks, when Derek continues to be silent. 

“Do you need my permission?” Derek clearly feels the need to be a shit. 

At least they’re back to more familiar ground now. Stiles is kind of happy that Derek is showing he does care, even if he does it by aggressively mocking Stiles. Because mocking can totally be a love language if that is how Derek wants to play it - hell, Stiles has absolutely used it before, to tell Scott he appreciates him without having to say it. This would just be a much more romantic extension of it - that is, if Derek wants to. 

Which he probably doesn’t. This is just… friendly caring. Probably. 

“You were the one who hijacked my studying session,” Stiles argues. 

“You were asleep on your feet,” Derek is not going to let him win. “Apologies for wanting you to sleep lying down instead of steeped over a table. You would have been pissed at me if I’d done that. And you needed to sleep. You still do.” 

Derek is right about that much, Stiles would have been really fucking pissed if he’d fallen asleep at the desk. He mostly would have been pissed at himself, but maybe also a little bit at Derek, if he’d gotten in the way somehow. It may not be fair, but Stiles knows himself reasonably well, and he is very knowledgeable about his own deflection skills. Derek doesn’t stand a chance if Stiles is in a mood - not fair, but certainly true. 

“I’ll sleep after my final,” Stiles promises. 

“I’ve been in grad school,” Derek does the sensei thing well, even though Stiles really doesn’t want to hear it from him. “I’ve been there. I’ve pulled all-nighters trying to cram. Please do better than I did. Get some sleep tonight.” 

Sure, Derek would be able to pull off an Obi-Wan type character, but Stiles isn’t his damn padawan. He is a grown ass adult and he is sick and tired of Derek vacillating between treating him like a kid or the grown man he is whenever it suits him. He just wants Derek to see him as an equal, as someone he could potentially be interested in. And yeah, he knows the second bit isn’t a realistic thing, but the first one should be. 

“I don’t need you to be my mentor,” Stiles lashes out in frustration. 

Derek actually growls at him. “I’m trying to help you, Mr. Stilinski.” 

Mr. Stilinski again? Is this really the same guy who adorably covered him with his leather jacket, the same guy who sent his friend over to help Stiles shop? This is contradicting the care and the friendship overtures that Stiles has been helpless to resist. Why is Derek suddenly reverting back to this overt professionalism? It’s not like anyone is watching, like anyone would know. Or like anyone would even care. Derek is the only one worried about professionalism. 

He gets up off the couch anyway, because he really doesn’t want to be here like this. 

“Thanks for the blanket,” Stiles is gritting his teeth. “No thanks whatsoever for the patronizing advice to a grown-ass adult.” 

Because he’s an asshole, he turns away from Derek, bending over to grab his bag (the one Derek carefully set down next to the couch, like they’re friends) and hoping Derek stares at his ass in these pants. He can pretend that’s a thing, even though it’s not. 

And then, when he has his shit together, he walks right past Derek and back into the library proper. 

“Stiles,” Derek tries to make him turn around using the power of his voice. 

And while that voice is extremely powerful, Stiles manages to resist its lure. Barely.

He powerwalks out of the library. The books are calling him home. 

* * *

The day after his final is spent sleeping in until noon, and playing video games while wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt. And eating a whole lot of snacks. 

When the doorbell rings, it startles him so much that he gets killed right away. 

“No soliciting,” he hollers at the door, already mad at whoever’s there. 

He’s not expecting anyone. Who could it be, really? He doesn’t have friends here, and his roommate has long since left the city. The lucky bastard got to go home, and go home early too, because his exams were scheduled perfectly. 

But at least Stiles isn’t stuck with him over the holidays. He’s just got his own company to worry about, and any potential disgruntled ex one night stand (still mad at Josh for last time) that find their way here. Maybe the person at the door is another one of Josh’s ladies, and they’re looking for vengeance. Stiles would be happy to let them have it - just as long as he does not get caught in the crossfire. He’s done nothing wrong here. 

“Josh isn’t home,” he explains while opening the door. 

Stiles is looking down a little, because he’s expecting a girl, and Josh usually likes them shorter than him (and curvy). He finds himself staring at a broad chest, one that’s kind of familiar from all of the hours he’s spent staring at it. And when he says hours, he means  _ hours _ . 

“Who’s Josh?”

Stiles tries not to have a heart attack. “Derek?” 

Because yes, that is actually Derek fucking Hale showing up at his door, like… Well, to be honest, Stiles doesn’t know what it’s like exactly. This kind of thing just doesn’t happen to him. Not ever, not when it could be happening to someone like Josh, who actually gets laid and has girls coming back for more. No one wants more Stiles - it’s something he’s accepted ages ago. 

“Can I come in?” he asks, like there’s any way that Stiles will say no to that. 

“Yeah,” Stiles nods like he’s a fucking bobblehead. “It’s a bit of a mess, but not nearly as much as usual. My roommate left two days ago, and he won’t be back until after New Year’s.”

It’s not like Stiles is anything less than a mess at most times, but compared to Josh he’s basically germaphobic. Josh is kind of the worst roommate, but he pays the rent on time and he’s pretty good at not sexiling Stiles around finals, so…. Better than the last one. 

“When are you going back home?” Derek asks, barely even looking around. 

“This summer, hopefully,” Stiles shrugs, as if he isn’t actually counting the days. “Depending on graduation and getting a job. I would love to stay here, but if I find a job in California…” 

Ugh, the last thing he wants to think about right now is graduation. That feels like eons away, even though it’s just another semester. Just a few more months before he has to make another big decision about his future. Yeah, he’s supposed to be an adult, but this just never actually gets any easier, especially when it means deciding about if he’s giving up on New York and just going back home with his metaphorical tail between his legs. He loves it here, but sometimes the city and its people just really don’t love him back. 

Spending another year with Josh as a roommate? Yeah, definitely not. 

Derek’s ridiculous eyes are completely focused on him. “You’re not going home for Christmas?”

“Plane tickets are expensive,” Stiles shrugs because he knows the deal by now. “My Dad can’t get away this time of year. And well… I don’t really have any other options. At least I can pick up a ton of extra shifts around the holidays. That way I can take time off when Dad visits.” 

Oh God, is he getting even more pity from Derek now? Because that’s the last thing he needs. He’s still mad at him about the mentoring bullshit, about the ‘not treating Stiles like an equal’ thing. This is just another reminder of that, a reminder that Derek probably has his shit together and Stiles’ plans for Christmas involve a Die Hard marathon (a Stilinski tradition) and more sappy romantic movies, maybe? 

“You’re spending Christmas with me,” Derek orders. 

And whoah, that is not what Stiles was expecting at all, but honestly, he is more than kind of into that. Not just into Derek ordering him around a little (just a little, with prior consent, would be totally something he’s into, probably), but into spending several days with Derek. Stiles is super into spending prolonged amounts of time with Derek outside of the damn library - it gives him all the opportunities for his wonderful seduction plan. 

Yeah, he’s not giving up on that now. 

“I didn’t mean to,” Derek starts to stammer when Stiles remains silent. 

“Didn’t mean to invite me?” Stiles crosses his arms over his chest, a move he’s blatantly stolen from Derek. “Or you didn’t mean to order me into spending time with you?” 

He is leaning towards the latter, but that’s his optimism talking. And that’s not a very common impulse for him, so he usually tends to ignore it. He’s trying not to this time. No matter how difficult it may be for him. 

“The ordering you thing,” Derek answers. 

“The right answer,” Stiles tells him in return. “Now, why are you here? Other than to attempt to order me around, of course. We’ve already checked that box.” 

That embarrasses Derek even more, of course, which feels a bit like evening the odds. And that’s what Stiles wants from him - that and a declaration of love, but he’s still trying to be realistic here. Though this visit has already given him plenty of ammunition for some serious alone time later. Alone time in which that very declaration is the reason Derek is here. Because that is absolutely how Stiles’ brain rolls. 

“Very funny,” Derek’s lack of intonation tells Stiles he thinks it’s anything but. 

“I’m hilarious,” Stiles says, regardless of any sass. “Seriously, why? Because I’m not equipped for library emergencies at this time, and Erica hasn’t been sending me any cryptic texts about expecting a visit. If she’d known about this, she totally would have, don’t lie.” 

What would a library emergency entail? (One that has no relation to that creepy Doctor Who episode with the shadows.) And why would Derek think that Stiles would be able to help? 

Okay, brain, that’s enough for now. 

“She would have,” Derek agrees with that, at least. “And there’s no library emergency. I don’t know what you think that looks like, or what you’d be able to do to help. I appreciate the offer, though. I think. Depending on your solution.” 

That sassy asshole! Stiles is so ridiculously into him, it’s no joke. It makes him want to think of a million ridiculous solutions to non-existent problems, just to see if he can make Derek smile, and maybe banter with him a little bit more. Maybe be all sassy with his stupid eyebrows and actually show teeth when he smiles or smirks. Stiles is dying to see that. 

“I can think of many, many things,” Stiles promises, and he’s not even trying for the entendre. 

Is he flirting with Derek? Well, yeah, whenever he sees an opportunity, because it’s not like Derek has figured him out so far, and Stiles has been doing it for a while now. And it’s so damn fun, hinting at things, putting things out there that he would happily be taken up on if Derek ever figures it out. Which he never will, so it’s safe to go there now, to mention that he can think of a million things related to Derek, and a significant part of them are dirty. 

Because that’s just the way he rolls. Cue guitar riff. 

“I came by to apologize,” Derek isn’t even looking at him. 

Still, Stiles can tell that the tips of his ears have turned red - it’s a good look on him, probably because everything is a good look on Derek. Being flustered is probably in the top ten for Stiles, though. It makes Derek seem softer, more human. Less like he’s a member of some superhuman, way out of anyone’s league, race of heroes. It makes him seem more real, more approachable. Like Stiles isn’t completely kidding himself with this. 

“Did you now?” Stiles is an asshole. 

But he’s an asshole who hasn’t actually heard an apology yet, and so he continues to needle Derek. Because he can. Because he wants to. 

“I’m sorry for overstepping,” Derek draws the exact wrong conclusion. “I should have let you make your own decisions when it comes to self-care.”

Is this what other people call being a martyr? Because Derek is pretty good at it so far. Nah, that’s not the right word. It’s… It’s like insecurity. Like Derek is insecure too. Which is weird, but probably not completely impossible. 

Fit hot guys have feelings too, right? Not quite right, but he’ll deal. 

“Wrong,” Stiles is really enjoying being an asshole at the moment. “It’s not about you being nice to me and letting me crash in your office when I almost fell asleep on you. Literally, on you. Which, I probably should apologize about that. Not that that’s the point, though. The point is that is not what I was mad about. I’m mad about the part after that. The back in my day, when I was young… That bullshit. The supposedly well-intentioned thing that just comes off patronizing.” 

Will looking at Derek help him get the point across? Probably not, but he kind of always wants to look at Derek, so he’s going to do it anyway. Because Derek appears to be wearing the very same jacket that he’d covered Stiles up with two days ago, and Stiles doesn’t see any mysterious stains or drool marks. And, well, it looks a lot better on Derek than it did on Stiles (albeit, just as a blanket). In fact, this whole casual look is really working for him, the jeans and the tight Henley are probably not as professional. But fuck, they’re doing him all the favors. 

Derek continues to be hot when he’s frustrated/angry/plotting Stiles’ death. 

“Stiles,” Derek is still standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed. 

“No,” Stiles is mirroring him now. “We’re not continuing that discussion now. Because I’m still not a damn kid, and you don’t need to fucking mentor me.” 

No one has ever said the word mentor with that much disdain, probably. But Stiles has been padowan-zoned. And it fucking sucks. 

Just because he’s a student, ‘only’ twenty-three and very much a virgin still, doesn’t mean that Derek gets to treat him like he’s a kid who needs his help. Because he doesn’t - if he does need any help, he’ll ask. But he doesn’t need a Yoda. Thanks. 

“I’m trying to help you,” Derek bites out from between clenched teeth. 

And… Is that a growl? Clearly Derek has more of a temper than Stiles knows about. 

“If I need help I’ll ask,” Stiles can’t growl, but Derek makes him want to try. “I can take care of myself. You may not like my methods, but they work. Harris fucking hates me, and I’m not being paranoid when I say that he’s legit out to get me. I have to beat him. I just have to. And this final was my last damn chance. I can push myself to the brink if I want to. If I need to. I have two more days off before the crazy shifts start. I’m not a damsel. I may occasionally be in distress, but I can handle it. I don’t need some friendly older brother-figure to tell me differently.” 

Okay, he was wrong.  _ This _ is an actual growl. He’s definitely pissed Derek off now. 

“I’m not your damn brother,” Derek turns his back on Stiles. 

He is breathing heavy, probably trying to keep himself from doing something stupid. And Stiles isn’t scared of Derek, because as if! But he wants to know, wants to figure out what makes Derek tick - and what that tick looks like. What does it look like when Derek loses control? 

“Good,” Stiles is trying not to yell. “Because I don’t need one of those. And I especially don’t need that from  _ you _ .” 

Fuck.  _ Fuck. _

That is probably exactly the wrong thing to say, but it’s already out, and he can already tell that the hit landed, and it landed hard. 

To Derek, it probably didn’t read like a boy awkwardly trying to talk around a stupid crush, it read like that stupid boy dismissing him and the effort he’d put in. Because now that Stiles looked back on it, Derek had been making an effort. Stiles doesn’t understand it, and he certainly doesn’t know why and what for, but he’s finally reading between the lines. Derek has picked him, out of the dozens of students that fall all over him. Stiles may not understand why, but Derek has put him on a very short list of people that he cares about. 

And that is what Stiles just stomped all over. 

“Fine,” Derek is still turned away. 

Clearly, he’s seconds from leaving. Stiles has to act fast if he ever wants to repair this. 

“No, not fine,” he steps up, right into Derek’s space. “Because if you’re too busy mentoring me, when are you going to have time to fall in love with me?” 

That certainly gets a reaction. 

Derek turns around, his kaleidoscope eyes wide. His gorgeous mouth is slack, and his brows aren’t set to murder mode, for once. He looks scared and soft and almost… happy. 

But then he just doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t reject Stiles right away, like he’s been expecting Derek would do, but he also doesn’t respond in any other way. The look on his face is slow to change, and it seems like the scared part of it bleeds away slowly but surely. Until just the softness and the happiness remain, and Stiles still has no idea what this means. 

“I don’t need time,” Derek says. 

And that just doesn’t make sense. What is that supposed to mean? Could Derek vague that up anymore than that? 

So, what, Derek’s already decided that it is just never going to happen? Is that it? 

“I’m already there,” he continues. 

Stiles’ heart stops, just for a second. And then it starts pounding again, because the puzzle pieces aren’t creating the picture he’s been expecting, and suddenly he’s faced with a picture of a romantic candlelight dinner instead of just Stiles sitting on his couch by himself, pining over Derek until he finally got over him (maybe when Stiles moved to California). 

“What the actual fuck?” Stiles takes it extremely well. 

Derek just… laughs at him. It’s not meant to be cruel, and Stiles tries really hard not to take it that way, but… Derek can’t just say stuff like that and expect it to make sense. 

“I’ve been in love with you for ages,” Derek ducks his head when he says this, and Stiles pretends he isn’t literally dying right now. “I’ve been saving your seat for you for years. Did you really think that no one else figured out how perfect it is? They have. But it’s yours. It makes you happy. I like it when you’re happy.” 

The statement is simple, but it’s so much bigger than Derek makes it sound. Because what Stiles is hearing here is that Derek has been pining for him as much as Stiles has been for Derek, possibly more so. And that’s just… impossible. Yet it’s true. 

“You’re a ridiculous man,” Stiles can’t help how fucking thrilled he sounds at this. 

“Takes one to know one,” Derek snipes back right away. 

And Stiles is so, so ridiculously in love right now. 

“You need to kiss me already,” he orders Derek. “Seriously. I’ve been waiting forever, and I got the stupid makeover in the hopes that you’d finally notice me, and…” 

It’s a little vulnerable, admitting that to Derek so easily. Because while a part of the makeover had definitely been related to wanting people to see him as a grown-up, and wanting to have some more professional options when he does graduate (one more semester, seriously, no thinking about that yet), but a stupidly large part of it was a last ditch attempt to get Derek to notice him as more than just one of the random students in the library. 

Not that he’s ever been random to Derek, apparently. 

“You didn’t have to,” Derek is looking at him now. 

Boy oh boy, having Derek’s full attention is wonderfully thrilling and terrifying and electrifying and all those ridiculous Grease Lightning words. Because for once Derek is looking at him and seeing right past the surface, and it doesn’t matter that Stiles’ sweatpants have holes in them and his shirt is stretched in weird places, and that his hair is sticking up oddly because he hasn’t bothered to do anything with it. Because Derek wants him anyway. 

“But I’ve been practicing my bend and snap,” Stiles is laughing too hard to pout too much. “I’ve been wearing the tight pants and picking stuff off the floor and oh my fucking God that’s why all of the broken stuff. You drop stuff when you look at my ass. This is the best day ever.” 

The guy he’s been into since… well, since he met Derek, is actually into him too. He might actually be able to get a date out of this, and maybe even more than one. He might get a boyfriend out of this, someone who is willing to hang out with him and cuddle and kiss and maybe even… He’s probably going to get laid over the holidays after all. Well, okay, that kind of depends on Derek, but Stiles can’t imagine he’s going to say no with all of the ogling of Stiles’ ass he’s apparently been doing. 

This is actually happening. 

“You’re an idiot,” Derek has to interject, and Stiles just doesn’t care. “And it’s the fellating of pencils and pens that is the worst thing. Seriously, do you know what you look like when you do that? Because I do, and it’s obscene. You can’t do that to me in a public place.” 

This is something that Derek is going to be telling him about in detail, and not just because Stiles’ ego could really use some boosting. Derek is going to tell him everything because it’s fucking hot and Stiles would rather they be hot together instead of pining separately. Shit, the stuff he wants Derek to do to him, with him…

_ Dear Penthouse... _

“How about in private?” Stiles is that asshole, again. 

Derek gulps audibly, visibly even. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

In the very, very best way. Stiles has already decided. He’s going to be a clingy strumpet, and he doesn’t give a damn. Because Stiles is all in, and it seems like Derek is too. And he can’t believe they’re still talking when they could be making out already. 

“But what a way to go,” he tells Derek, before pulling him close. 

That earns him an eye-roll, and a brief hint of adorable bunny teeth. Derek can’t lie, he’s into Stiles - and that includes his stupid jokes and his difficult personality traits. And it’s fucking mutual - he can’t wait to find out even more about Derek. 

Erica is going to gloat so much when she finds out about this. 

“Hey Derek,” Stiles has to get in one last comment before they finally kiss. “I think operation get Stiles laid this holiday season is a resounding success.” 

He hopes that Derek understands it’s not just about that, but he really does love that banter. And Derek can keep up with him, which is basically everything he’s ever wanted in a man. They’re going to be doing this for a while yet, he hopes, and he can’t wait to see what Derek comes up with next. 

Actually, he’s a little impatient. 

“Not yet it isn’t.” 

Oh, that’s… promising. Very promising. 


End file.
